


so don't break (break)

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, D/s elements, Hair-pulling, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: But John’s got nice hands, on and off the ice.Not only does he have them, but he knows how to use them, knows to run his fingers through Mitch’s hair just the way he likes. Knows to emphasize the drag along Mitch’s scalp, to press in deep at the edge of his nape.Knows when to yank Mitch up by the fist in his hair and kiss him within an inch of his life.





	so don't break (break)

Mitch likes the way John’s hand feels in his hair.

The thing is, he doesn’t really care this way or that for having his hair pulled. It’s very much a  _ depending _ kind of thing; depending on how long his hair is at the time, depending on what’s happening while his hair is being pulled, depending on who’s doing the pulling, and adjacently, depending on the size of their hand, the weight, the feel of it.

But John’s got nice hands, on and off the ice. 

Not only does he have them, but he knows how to use them, knows to run his fingers through Mitch’s hair just the way he likes. Knows to emphasize the drag along Mitch’s scalp, to press in deep at the edge of his nape.

Knows when to yank Mitch up by the fist in his hair and kiss him within an inch of his life.

It’s crazy, how well John has gotten to know Mitch — his body, his kinks, his ticks and his buttons — in the few weeks they’ve been teammates. It’s crazy how much John notices and how quickly John learns. It’s crazy how John can already barely touch Mitch and send him instantly falling apart. 

This is no exception.

“Come on, Mitchy,” John whispers, low and rough, when he pulls away. Mitch doesn’t mean to, but he catches himself chasing after John’s lips, leaning in and in and in, settling when they wetly meet the corner of his grin. John just laughs, grip on his neck keeping him just out of reach. “Tell me what you want today?”

Mitch whines, not really in the mood for thinking or talking or whatever it is that John’s trying to coax out of him. But John tuts, tugs on his hair a little harder, and the brief hot flash of pain on his scalp is enough to get him to focus.

“Wanna blow you,” Mitch manages, muffled, face buried in John’s shoulder. 

John hums agreeably, and his hand releases its hold, flattening over Mitch’s head in soft pets. 

“I think that can be arranged,” John muses, voice hot over Mitch’s ear, “if you ask me nicely, anyway.”

“Come on, Johnny,” Mitch protests, turning into his neck now and leaving more half-hearted wet kisses, a less than subtle distraction. But John isn’t phased, pulls him back by the back of his neck.

“I said, ask me nicely, Mitchy.” Stern.

Mitch swallows, heat stirring in the pits of his stomach and bubbling up until he can feel it on his cheeks and creeping further down until he’s sure he’s red all over, spread down over his chest. 

He won’t look John in the eye, but he takes a breath and lets it fall from his lips all at once. “Please let me blow you, Johnny, please.”

Pleased, John kisses his forehead, delicately. “Greedy boy,” he tuts, “but if you insist.”

John pushes Mitch down until he slides off his lap and obediently resettles on the floor. John lets his knees fall open, makes room for Mitch to slot himself between them. 

Mitch doesn’t waste time, especially when he knows what he wants and has it right there in front of him. Face perfectly level with the bulge in John’s pants, Mitch gets to work on John’s belt, long fingers quick and nimble. He doesn’t pause after, goes straight to undoing John’s pants, easily popping the button open with him thumb, and eagerly dragging down the zipper. 

You’d think it’s almost routine, what with how easily Mitch pulls John out, tugs his pants down just a little, just enough to be out of the way, and tucks the elastic of John’s boxers under his balls, lazily out of the way.

“Efficient,” John comments from above him, dry.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Mitch replies, sassy. But he doesn’t let it phase him. Boldly, he grabs for John’s hand and manages to guide it back into his hair, pushy.

Amused, John indulges him, and he’s back to gripping at Mitch’s hair with just the right mix of firmness and control that Mitch likes. 

Eager, Mitch takes the head in his mouth, wraps a hand around the shaft and pumps, quick and precise. He flicks his tongue then swirls around the slit, practiced and purposeful. 

“That’s it,” John groans, fingers massaging the back of Mitch’s head, “that’s good, so good.”

It’s enough encouragement to get Mitch going, sloppily sliding his head down to take more, still keen to tease the tip on the upstroke. He speeds up his pumps, gets his other hand on John’s balls.

John starts to push down, just a little, getting Mitch to just take and take and take, just a little bit more each time. Maybe Mitch is just used to it by now, maybe he expects it, but it’s still satisfying to see him go down without protest, to follow John’s lead and obediently swallow him down. 

They get a good rhythm going, based on the push and pull of John’s grip in Mitch’s hair, soft and tawny in his fingers. Eventually, Mitch lets go, hands braced on John’s thighs, and allows John to push him all the way down.

He doesn’t protest, he doesn’t fight John’s hold. He closes his eyes and focuses like a good boy, focuses on relaxing his throat so he can fit all of John’s cock, even as his eyes begin to water and he starts to go red. Mitch is so good for him, and John rewards him with a tight squeeze in his hair that tugs him back up until it’s just the tip in his mouth.

Mitch breathes in, a deep gasp around John’s cock, enough that he can feel it and shiver as the hot air stirs around him. Mitch gets his mouth back on him, tight, as soon as he can, a mild apology. John pats him on the head to let him know he’s forgiven. 

Content, Mitch hums, eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the task at hand. John is getting there, just about close, and he knows it when he feels himself twitch between Mitch’s lips. 

There’s a bit of rustling, and when John looks, Mitch has got his own pants undone, hand shoved unceremoniously down the front. It’s bold, and quite cheeky, playing with himself without asking, but John’s too close now to call him out, even more so when Mitch wraps his other hand back around John’s dick, pumping loosely with the slick of his own saliva. 

When John looks again, Mitch is staring up at him through his lashes, long and dewy, still wet from before. He’s watching him carefully, eye wide and deceivingly innocent, begging John to wreck him. His pupils are the tell-tale, though, blown wide and dark, and it’s a different kind of satisfying, to know it’s because of him.

“Fuck, kid,” John says, breathy, adjusting his hand so he can direct Mitch’s pace again. It’s certainly a sight, watching his dick slide between Mitch’s lips, red and bruised and swollen, shiny with his spit and John’s pre-come, messy on his face. Mitch blinks up at him, desperate, and that’s all it takes.

John pushes him down by the grip in his hair, pulls at it until Mitch obeys and goes a good way down. He holds him there, makes him take it, makes him milk it out of him, selfishly bucking into Mitch’s mouth. 

There’s a whine of half protest, vibrating along John’s dick, but John’s too in the moment for it it to register, too far in to care. So by the time he finishes, still panting and hands retreating to his own thighs, Mitch is pulling away, mildly displeased.

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, shameless.

“Thanks for the warning,” Mitch rolls his eyes at him.

“Sorry,” John offers, but he doesn’t really mean it, and by the way Mitch glares at him, he knows that Mitch knows this, too.

But John isn’t a complete asshole. “Come here, kid,” he pats his thigh, even as he tucks himself away. 

Mitch isn’t actually upset enough to be difficult, so he climbs back into John’s lap, strategically placing himself so his erection presses into John’s abs, not quite enough friction but the best he can do.

It doesn’t matter, though, because John grabs Mitch’s wrist and moves it until he can wrap Mitch’s fingers around his erection, encouragingly. John wraps his own hands around Mitch’s, pumps with him, hard and fast and just a little too dry.

“Fuck your fist for me, Mitchy boy,” John leans in to whisper to him again, lips brushing over his ear. Mitch shivers, eyes screwed shut.

“Johnny, I’m—” Mitch starts, but interrupts himself with a gasp. He tries again, “Jonny, please.”

It’s mostly nonsense, but John gets it, knows what Mitch wants. So he bats Mitch’s hand away and takes over completely, big hands in shorts pumps but firmer, rougher, and just toeing the line of unkind when he thumbs at the slit. His other hand finds its way back into Mitch’s hair and tugs his head back, exposes Mitch’s neck for John to go to town, nipping at every ridge and bump, tonguing at his adam’s apple.

Mitch is a slut for it, doesn't even try to hold back on his moans, anymore. John tells him so, lips pressed against the skin of his throat, the words vibrating against the sensitive spot. “You’re a such a whore for me, Mitch, already my fucking slut.”

And that’s what does it; Mitch comes in a choked off yell, an indistinguishable plea, high and whiny as John pumps him through it. John doesn’t let up until Mitch has gone completely soft, squirming in uncomfortable over-sensitivity.

He collapses in John’s hold, tucks his head again John’s chest, fit perfectly under John’s chin. They’re both disgusting and should probably get up soon, but John figures they can wait for a little while, figures he can let Mitch have his moment.

He doesn’t express this, but Mitch can tell, and he smiles, soft, into the skin of John’s chest.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

John just smiles, and runs a hand, gentle, through Mitch’s hair. 

  
  
  


_ end. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Predictably, the title is from 'Sanctify' by Years & Years.
> 
> twitter [pinkmanite](http://www.twitter.com/pinkmanite)


End file.
